He said, "How do they do that with songs?" A crumpled cigarette pack hit him in the chest and bounced off. Lots of things bounced from him. He never saw where they came from, following their arc only after impact.

"Hey ditz--I mean Paul," Robert said, thinking he didn't hear the first name.

"I'm not ditz," he said, and he watched the remains of a styrofoam cup bounce from his shoulder and flutter to the ground. Where the hell did these things come from? He pointed to the white oval on his chest with his name embroidered in red. "My name is..."

And that wasn't right because he did the break room last night and it was Robert's turn.

"Hey, Robert--" was all he could get out before Robert slapped him in his gray overals with the daylog. He dropped the handle of the broom when Robert let go of the papers. He had to to keep the papers from flying away, so the broom fell, he clutched them to his chest, and Robert tisked like he was mad.

"It's all right there, buddy," Robert said. "Check for yourself. Page forty three. And when you get done there are the rest rooms, and then the main foyer. Better get going, it's going to take you all night."

And then Robert was gone and Paul was holding the daylog with a broom at his feet.

"Always do the most important thing," he said to himself, repeating what they'd taught him at the mainstreaming school. Now the most important thing was to put the daylog back where it belonged, and where it belonged was on Chuck's desk.

He was always careful not to touch anything in Chuck's office. But this time he turned around too fast and his elbow hit the radio on the desk. It was the radio that made the music they heard in the whole building. They all had to listen to Chuck's music every day.

Paul couldn't see until the song was over. It was like waking up only it was still third shift. Not morning yet.

He knew which button would repeat the song. He knew Chuck didn't want him to touch anything, but Chuck wasn't here, and nobody but he and Robert were in the building--and now Robert was in the front and couldn't hear the music anyway.

When the song went off it was morning. Chuck found him standing in the office teetering against the standing broom, having done nothing all night.

Chuck was mad. "Why are you here, Paul?"

"I was just putting the daylog back," he stuttered, trying to keep a train of thought free of excuses that would screw him up. Don't lie, his mother had told him. He wasn't smart enough to pull off a lie.